


A Masquerade in Love and Violence

by voxofthevoid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom!Will, But also kinda canon compliant, Couch Sex, Dark, Does that make sense?, First Kiss, Hannibal is not a total dick, Hannibal is only human, Hannigram - Freeform, I repeat HAPPY ENDING, M/M, NO physical abuse, Possessiveness, So is Will, Tenderness, This has a happy ending I promise, Will POV, Will is rather cruel, and they keep hurting each other, betrayal and vengeance, bittersweet agony, followed by lots of fluff that’s not fluff because it’s laced with an unhealthy dose of pain, lots of angst and pain, lots of emotions, love-hate relationship, mutual obsession, spans end of s1 s2 and a bit of post s2, the gutting scene with another twist, tiny bit of actual fluff in the beginning, top!Hannibal, unhealthy relationship, well they end up together, who’s surprised?, ‘cause they have feelings… fucked up feelings, ‘happy’ is a fluid concept though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the broken lives of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. A look at what happens when the line between love and hate blurs irrevocably.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>True love isn’t always pure. Sometimes, even soulmates are doomed to hurt and hate and destroy each other. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Masquerade in Love and Violence

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of this story, Abigail is dead. Hannibal actually killed her in S01E12.
> 
> So, this Hannibal is less manipulative and somewhat more vulnerable to Will than his canon counterpart. And Will is darker, more ruthless and crueler than in canon. They’re both also hopelessly obsessed with each other, but that’s nothing new.
> 
> These scenes takes place in _Savoureux, Yakimono(different version of the kitchen scene), Su-zakana, Naka Choko, b/w Naka choko and Ko no mono, Ko no mono, Tome wan, Mizumono, 4 months after finale, 18 months after finale_ respectively.

_We are effectively destroying ourselves by violence masquerading as love._

_\- R.D Laing_

__

**_ En _ **

Their first kiss happens during a rare moment of complete lucidity amongst violent hallucinations and phantom voices. For Will, that is.

But despite the fact that he is in total possession of his mental faculties, Will feels as if his body is moving of its own accord as he leans forward and tentatively molds his lips to Hannibal’s, causing the doctor to drop the clothes in his hands- replacements for Will’s garish orange prison jumpsuit- out of what can only be shock. He’s not really surprised when he’s kissed back, he’s always suspected that Hannibal feels more than just friendly regard for him, but he is surprised at _himself_.

Will has always been under the impression that he is as straight as a nail.

But as his hands move to twist and tangle in soft, blond strands with obvious enthusiasm, Will decides that perhaps he’s not really as straight as he’d believed.

It’s Hannibal who draws away first and the sight of his sort-of psychiatrist/friend with swollen lips and panting breaths sends a jolt of pure desire through his body that is most certainly not appropriate for the rather dire circumstances he’s found himself in.

Maybe after they sort out this mess and his name is cleared, they can pursue this new development with the careful attention it deserves.

They don’t talk about it, but the genuinely delighted smile that Hannibal directs at him is enough to reassure him that, ‘no, this is not a mistake.’

_(It is the greatest mistake of his life.)_

Hannibal’s hand is impossibly gentle as it comes up to stroke his cheek before he withdraws to pick up the clothes he dropped and hand them to Will. The sensation of that touch lingers on his skin throughout the 16 hour drive to Minnesota.

Despite his exhaustion, Will feels reluctant to take his eyes off Hannibal as he drives. He resists the temptation to ask him what he is doing, risking his profession and reputation like this by aiding an escaped convict. He doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps staring at the man. And its during the long hours of that drive that the desire from earlier as well all the other, diverse things that he’s ever felt for the doctor coalesce together to settle into his heart in the form of an emotion that feels unfamiliar, but so very _intense_.

And Will thinks, before his eyes fall shut in spite of his best efforts that, maybe, it has been there all along.

For an empath, he’s always been lousy at knowing his own feelings.

_Hannibal Lecter, I think I’m in love with you._

_*_

Later, in the morose confines of his cell, he will remember those moments of painful tenderness amidst memories of betrayal and manipulation.

 

**_ To _ **

There was a time when Will envied the way Hannibal had so much control over his reactions. That uncanny ability to school his features had been one of the many reasons Will had been so attracted to the man, craving the stability he offered so generously.

_(That preternatural control should have been his first clue that not all was right with his beloved doctor.)_

There was also a time when Will felt proud of his ability to see through the mask that he presented to the world; to see a smile for the polite, unfeeling courtesy it was and not the warm, charming thing others perceived it to be, to read annoyance in the twitch of his lips and the barely visible tightening at the corners of his eyes, to sense fondness in the seemingly blank glances directed at _him_.

He is no longer proud of any of it, not when their entire relationship had been built on a web of lies and blood-soaked secrets. He no longer feels joy and fondness when he sees those images behind his lids.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he can still read every twitch and shift of that face with a newfound clarity that may frighten Will if he allows it.

That is why the way Hannibal’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and the way his lips part in a soundless gasp when he exits the bathroom to find Will sitting idly on his bed translates to him as actual, unchecked shock tempered with caution and a fair amount of sheer delight.

“Will.”

Will doesn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to trail impassive eyes over Hannibal- freshly showered and clad in nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs- noting with detachment that he was shockingly fit for a man his age and with such a decadent lifestyle, all taut muscles and sharp lines.

_Every inch a predator._

He doesn’t think about how this sight may have affected him _before_.

“Hello, Hannibal.” He greets, rising gracefully to his feet from the ridiculously luxurious bed to take a step towards Hannibal who watches him warily, _hungrily_ , but stands his ground. “You seem surprised. Don’t tell me you’re so shocked that I dropped by. You didn’t even lock the door, it’s practically an invitation.”

This calm, cold voice doesn’t really sound like his own but it _is_ entirely his. Nothing borrowed here. A new voice for a new Will Graham.

Hannibal smiles, actually smiles, and shuts the bathroom door behind him, not once glancing away from Will. He has to fight not to shrink back from the satisfaction evident in that stare.

“I was merely surprised at finding you in my bed.” The choice of words, all too deliberate, doesn’t escape Will, but he pays no mind to it. “I’m afraid you have caught me in a rather inopportune moment.”

“I don’t really care about your state of undress, Hannibal.” He may have once. He might again in the future. “I’m confused though, about whether to thank you or blow out your brains. How about both?”

Something flickers in Hannibal’s eyes as they fall on the gun Will holds loosely in his hand, the monster inside peeking out for a very brief moment before his face morphs into a quizzical expression.

“I can’t say I understand you motivations for either.”

“Oh, forgive me. I’ll explain. I want to ‘thank’ you for so kindly facilitating my release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. As for my reasons for desiring your death… there are _so many_. Where should I begin? How about the part where you killed Abigail and fed me her ear?” Will jerks his head in a sharp shake as Hannibal opens his mouth to respond, no doubt with another denial, and takes a few steps forward until he’s close enough to feel the heat coming off the other man.

“Don’t bother with the lies. I’m in no mood to listen. You know, if trying to kill you was all I needed to do to regain my freedom, I’d have done it a long time ago. Matthew was quite easy to persuade, after all.” Will’s mouth curves into a coldly amused smile at the annoyance that settles over Hannibal’s features at the mention of the other killer. “But I’m glad he failed.”

“Oh, why is that?” There is curiosity in that question, Hannibal’s greatest folly.

One day, it will be his downfall.

“Because _I_ deserve to kill you with my own hands.” Despite his words, Will doesn’t so much as raise the gun and nor does he make any other attempt to attack him.

But the sheer joy that lights up Hannibal’s face at the threat is enough to unwind the tight grip Will kept on his anger.

The gun clatters to the floor as he shoves hard at Hannibal, pinning him easily to the wooden door by his shoulders. One of Will’s hands move to wrap around the doctor’s throat, not tight enough to constrict his airflow, but enough to suggest it.

Hannibal doesn’t even try to stop him.

If anything, he seems displeased when Will steps away, releasing him.

“Something tells me you’d like for me to use my hands.”

“Its intimate,” is the response he receives.

_That’s precisely my reason for favoring it._

Will takes a moment to collect himself, pushing back the chaotic emotions that threaten to cause more fissures in his composure, though he doesn’t try for the cool detachment from before. That’s not going to help him when dealing with this man.

He locks eyes with Hannibal and voices the other reason he came here like this.

“You’re going to terminate your relationship with Alana.”

Astonishment flares for a brief second in Hannibal’s eyes before it melts into amused curiosity. Will’s certain that his demand must be the most audacious thing anyone has ever said to Hannibal Lecter. Or rather, it must the most audacious thing anyone has ever said to him without being instantly marked for death.

“Why would I do that?” Hannibal smiles, a quick, sharp grin that is nothing like the subdued expressions of the respectable ‘Dr Lecter’ or the demure quirks of pale lips he’d once shared only with Will. He _tries_ not to think about those happier days when he was blessed with ignorance and when he fails, he draws on his pain, resolves to use even that as a weapon. Hannibal continues, oblivious to the raging storm inside Will, “Or should I ask why you would want me to stop seeing Alana?”

_Because I cannot think of your hands on her without wanting to rip her delicate body into pieces and bathe myself in her blood._

Of course, he doesn’t utter those words out loud.

He does wonder though whether Hannibal is aware of how his affair with Alana is currently what tempts Will the most to give in to the abysmal darkness in his heart, to become the creature Hannibal so desires him to be.

“I like your attention better when it’s focused on _me_ , Hannibal, and not on innocent bystanders.” A half-truth is always a better than an outright lie, especially when one is dealing with a master manipulator of minds and hearts.

He can see the way his words affect Hannibal more strongly that the other wishes to let on and he’s suddenly curious to know what reaction his original, unvoiced response would elicit. He forcibly pushes that dangerous line of thought out of his mind.

“I assure you, Will, that I’ll do everything within my power to ensure that no harm comes to dear Alana.”

Will chuckles darkly in answer.

“I know that you will do everything in your power to avoid a situation where you’ll be forced to hurt her. Just as I know that if push comes to shove, you will kill her without a second thought. End things with her. I’m not asking.”

Hannibal’s lips part ever so slightly to release a soft sigh at the confidence and _power_ in Will’s voice and he takes a step forward to cover the distance Will had earlier put between them.

“What if I refuse? What would you do? What _can_ you do, Will?” Hannibal’s words are taunting, meant to provoke, but he can hear the underlying curiosity in them, borne of his endless fascination with Will; an intense desire to know what he’ll do next, to discern what he’s thinking and to see if he’ll follow up on the blatant threat in his voice.

Hannibal expects violence from him. Will gives him the exact opposite.

“Don’t you understand, Hannibal? I’m giving you a choice here.” Will leans forward to cup his cheek with a tenderness that he does not- _cannot_ \- feel, softly brushing the pad of his thumb over a sharp, sculpted cheekbone and feels an echo of the affection he’d once felt for this man at the way Hannibal leans in almost unconsciously into the gentle touch. “There’s still a part of me- the poor, scared boy from Louisiana- that wants to just leave all this horror behind and settle down somewhere, fix boat motors and never look at another dead body again. If you refuse me, I’ll do just that. I will leave all this. Leave _you_. Is that what you want? I doubt it.”

Hannibal doesn’t respond immediately, simply staring at Will instead with disbelief clear on his features. Yet he makes no move to draw away from the warm hand on his face.

“You won’t do that. Your conscience, you _morals-_ ” There is a distinct sneer in his voice at that word that brings a smile to Will’s lips for some reason.”- will never allow it.”

“My morals have only served to make me miserable so far. Why should I listen to them? No, Hannibal, my conscience has no say in this. Don’t get me wrong, I _want_ to stay if only so I can quench my thirst for vengeance with your blood.” It’s a struggle not to sink in his fingers to the smooth flesh of Hannibal’s face and tear apart the human skin he wears to expose the beast underneath but he holds himself in check, opting to trail his hand upwards to brush a few strands of wet ashen hair away from Hannibal’s forehead.

“But this is between you and me. Jack, Alana… they can all linger on the outskirts of the blazing hell that is our relationship, but I refuse to let them interfere.” He leans forward until his forehead rests against the other man’s in a cruel mockery of affection. Hannibal seems frozen by his words and actions, silently accepting the sharp poetry Will murmurs against his lips without complaint. “We can burn up together in mutual agony. Just us two. Isn’t that what you want, Hannibal? It’s what I want.”

He lets the words sink in and then asks, “So tell me, are you still going to refuse?”

“No, I’m not.” Hannibal no longer sounds calm, his voice nearly breaking on the words, lost for a moment in the picture Will painted with his words.

Will kisses him then, a sweet, lingering brush of lips much like their first and last one. It _hurts_ \- an almost physical ache- him to taint that cherished memory so callously and he hates himself for wishing with the blackened remains of his heart that he could go back to that time, when he viewed Hannibal with rose-colored lenses over his eyes.

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t attempt to distance himself from the ache, choosing instead to fold his arms around Hannibal with agonizing gentleness because he knows this hurts him just as much as it hurts Will.

And in spite of how much he loathes this man, there is a distinct burning in his throat when he pulls away. He can see his pain reflected in the ruby depths of Hannibal’s eyes, but it doesn’t bring him the satisfaction he craves.

“Do you remember what I told you in the hospital?” Will whispers, voice and words free of all artifice, honesty shaped into a weapon. “I said that I didn’t know which was worse, believing that I was a killer or believing that you betrayed me.”

He laughs, broken and humorless, as the clear line he’d drawn between the two halves of his heart- the one that despised Hannibal from the darkest depths of his soul and the one that still loved the man with smoldering intensity- blurs and fades, never to be formed again.

“I still don’t know.”

“Will-” Hannibal finally reacts, reaching out to him with a torn expression, his face appearing more alive than Will has ever seen before. He lurches away from the touch violently, shaking with the conflict ravaging him from inside.

“Don’t.” He grits out, no longer looking at Hannibal. “Just don’t.” He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore, but he knows he can’t handle anything from Hannibal right now, not when he’s so _raw_ with things he dare not name.

He bends, picks up the gun and levels a stare at the fine curve of Hannibal’s shoulder.

“I’ll be seeing you, Hannibal.”

He leaves.

Hannibal doesn’t stop him.

Will wonders why that hurts as well.

 

**_ Tre _ **

Will startles into wakefulness when the car comes to a stop and takes a moment to shake off the disorientation that’s the result of a fitful sleep full of eerie shadows and a dark, seductive voice he’s all too familiar with.

Though the latter is no surprise given his current company.

“Why are we at your house?” Will asks the moment he takes in his surroundings and for a second, he considers remaining in the car and demanding that Hannibal take him to Quantico- where his own car is waiting- but he steps out instead, slamming the door without the care he might have applied once.

“It’s late and you’re tired. I thought it would be best if you didn’t drive tonight. I have a perfectly adequate guest room.” He doesn’t turn around to face Hannibal when the man comes to stand beside him but he knows that if he were to look, he’d find that same, intense adulation in them that he’d seen in the stables.

He doesn’t look.

“And Hannibal knows best, right?”

He stalks forward until he’s on the doorstep and looks at Hannibal over his shoulder, still not catching his gaze, with a frown when he doesn’t so much as twitch from where he’s standing beside the Bentley.

“Do you plan for us to stay out here all night? What happened to that guest room?”

This is a bad idea, of course. Actually, this is a _disastrous_ idea.

But with the way his fingers still tremble in anticipation at the thought of how close he'd been to murdering Clark Ingram in cold blood, staying here is probably a better option that driving back. Though he doubts that Hannibal’s presence would do much to curb his murderous tendencies.

The interior of Hannibal’s house, with its priceless paintings and antique pieces, used to intimidate him once. Now, he can see bits and pieces of Hannibal in them all, can see how each object is chosen with precise care so that they’ll contribute to the meticulous illusion that the man has crafted, and feels amusement.

The silence between them is awkward and suffocating in a way it has never been in Hannibal’s office, where they delight in circling each other like two wary predators desperately trying to turn the other into prey. But here, the volatility and violence of their relationship seems infected by the memory of that odd encounter in Hannibal’s bedroom.

Neither of them had brought up that incident in their conversations, not even after Alana barged into Will’s house merely a day later, demanding to know if he had anything to do with Hannibal’s abrupt termination of their affair. Her accusations were a result of simple intuition- something Alana possessed in abundance but was often smothered by her goodwill- and Will had lied and mocked her, all the while feeling a profound sense of satisfaction over the fact that Hannibal had done as he asked. He had felt guilty for his sharp words but he needed her as distanced from himself as from Hannibal. For her own safety.

_Just us two._

He'd been reluctant to so much as mention any of this during his ‘therapy’ hours and so was Hannibal, apparently. It still _influenced_ every single one of their interactions, but it was subdued and consciously ignored by both men for reasons of their own.

But here, in the confines of Hannibal’s home, with no Jack to act as a buffer between them, the memory seems to gain a new strength, making it nearly impossible for him to even look at Hannibal without being plagued by certain thoughts and images.

“Are you drifting, Will?” He haltingly brings his gaze to Hannibal and has to fight himself not to recoil from the ardent adoration shining in their depths.

“Just thinking.” Will hesitates, rolls the words over in his mind for some time before speaking, giving into his curiosity.

“Before… why’d you stop me from killing him?”

“I didn’t want you to do something you’d regret afterwards.” Will keeps himself absolutely still as Hannibal comes close until he’s standing right beside him by the dining room window. He averts his gaze from Hannibal and turns his head to stare out at the snow with a blank gaze. “Killing Clark Ingram wouldn’t have been the same as killing me, Will. You’d have been disappointed.”

_How considerate of you._

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” He takes a deep breath and turns so he’s facing Hannibal, their eyes meeting. Probably not the smartest idea. “I was fully aware of that. You’re not the center of my world, Hannibal.” That’s a lie, mostly and he knows Hannibal knows that. Still, he feels like he needs to say those words out loud in what turns out to be a _futile_ attempt to make himself believe it.

Hannibal just smirks in response before moving closer, crowding Will against the window frame.

“Yes, I _am_. Just as you are the center of mine. We’re like two stars, constantly chasing each other, often shifting our trajectory but never straying far.”

His own mouth twists into a grin to mirror Hannibal’s. _This_ \- this play with words- is easier than the unvoiced emotions that had sparked between the two of them that day during Will’s impromptu ‘visit’.

“You ever wonder what will happen when we collide?”

 _When_ , not _if_. A certainty instead of a possibility.

“Perhaps we’ll fuse… merge… become one. Perhaps we’ll explode, destroy each other. I find both outcomes equally beautiful, but I must admit that I prefer the former.”

“You would. Two stars merge to form a black hole. And that suits your nature perfectly, doesn’t it?” Will extracts himself from where he’s all but trapped between Hannibal and the window, walking over to the dining table, staring absently at the elaborate- and rather eccentric- centerpiece. “Death and destruction shrouds you like a nebulous cloak. I often wonder how I didn’t see it before. How others _still_ don’t see it.”

“And yet, you willingly tie yourself to me.” Hannibal sounds close, _too_ close, and Will jerks reflexively when a warm body comes to rest along his back, Hannibal’s arms curving around him in a loose embrace. Gentle. Soft. _Fond_.

His own weapons used against him.

“Maybe I’m not the only one who revels in death and destruction.”

Will doesn’t respond, unwilling to either accept or deny the accusation. Denying it would, to some extent, be a lie and a pointless one at that. Accepting it would mean acknowledging it and that would only be a victory for the devil now cradling him like he is a precious gift.

So he remains silent.

But he can’t fully contain his shocked gasp when Hannibal bends to place a warm, open-mouthed kiss on the junction between his neck and shoulder, trailing his nose up the curve of his neck to nuzzle into his curls, sighing contently. Almost against his will, his body melts into the one behind him, giving in despite the vehement protests from the rational parts of his brain.

“There is only one death I’m interested in, Hannibal.” Will murmurs as the other man’s hand moves up to lightly caress his cheek, his face still pressed into Will’s hair. His voice is faint and _affectionate_ in direct contrast to the poison that pours past slightly parted lips. “ _Yours_. I want to see you suffer, break and shatter like I did before I put myself back together. I want to rend your flesh from your bones and drink in your agony like the finest of wines. I want to rip your beating heart out of your chest and tear it apart.”

A pause, short and breathless, as he gathers himself, taking deep breaths in an attempt to struggle past the eerie mixture of longing and dread his own words and the images accompanying them evoke in him. He does take a moment to enjoy the way Hannibal has become deadly still behind him before he continues in a breathy whisper.

“I want to _be_ your death, Hannibal.”

A helpless shudder is wrenched out of Hannibal and his arms tighten almost involuntarily around Will, not in fear or even anger, but in sheer, visceral _excitement_. Will can _feel_ it rolling off him in insidious waves, blanketing him with their deceptive warmth.

He should flee now, before the lines between love and hate blur further and he falls even deeper into the gaping abyss that is the man holding with such care.

He should run.

He doesn’t.

_(Mistake after mistake; Misstep after misstep.)_

“Then why have you not killed me yet?” Hannibal’s lips move to trace the shell of his ear, his voice a deep, husky whisper that doesn’t entirely contain the manic fervor hovering so near the surface of his human skin. “We both know it is not because you lack opportunities… or the desire.”

_Because I fear I’m too brittle to survive your death with the remnants of my sanity intact._

_Because losing you forever would feel like losing a part of my soul._

“Because you’re the only thing in my world that feels real anymore,” he says; the truth but not all of it. Neither of them are ready for that yet.

“You are the same, for me.” Hannibal tells him.

 _‘I will do anything to keep you by my side.’_ Will hears the silent confession in the desperate tenor of Hannibal’s voice and feels the sudden urge to laugh at the way they’re both trying in vain to deceive themselves.

His breath escapes him in a throaty groan as Hannibal’s teeth close around the supple flesh of his earlobe, biting and sucking lightly. The hand on his cheek strokes down to press against his throat, firm but unthreatening and his head rolls back to the broad shoulder behind him. Hannibal kisses a hot path back down his neck and he can feel the sensations shoot through his body, pooling low in his groin.

He goes willingly when his head is turned to a rough, insistent kiss that makes his hands grasp and clench in his own clothes as he fights against the urge to just push himself flush against Hannibal and consummate this aspect of their relationship then and there.

He doesn’t want to stop- _God_ , he doesn’t want to stop- but he pulls away from Hannibal, flushed and panting, aroused and hurting from it _all_.

“St-stop. _Stop_.”

The heat in the other man’s eyes give way to calm acceptance and Will wants to strike that look off his face, force into him some of the maddening turmoil that’s eating him from the inside.

Instead, he steps away.

“Where’s that guest room you mentioned?”

*

Will stands for a solid fifteen minutes under the cold shower until his erection dies and he is as cold as a corpse.

It does very little to sooth the fire _inside_ him.

He pulls on the pants of the pajamas laid out for him on the guest room bed with mild amusement and just stands there for an inordinate amount of time, staring at the room. It’s large, lovely and luxurious, certainly better than the cluttered living room/bed space in his own house at Wolf Trap.

And so terribly impersonal.

He firmly silences the screaming, _logical_ parts of his brain as he calmly walks out of the room, clad in nothing but a pair of sinfully soft (silk?) pants.

The door to Hannibal’s bedroom is closed but not locked and though the body stretched out on the bed doesn’t so much as twitch when Will enters and shuts the door behind him, he can feel the heavy weight of Hannibal’s gaze on him.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t offer any explanation whatsoever for his presence. He simply walks over to the other side of the king-sized bed and climbs under the covers.

“Will?” There is uncertainty in Hannibal’s voice; something that he may even dare to call vulnerability. But Will’s too drained to read much into it and his only response is to move closer until he’s pressed close to Hannibal’s mostly bare body.

“Good night, Hannibal.” Will whispers, placing a light kiss on the man’s dry lips before tucking his head beneath his chin and closing his eyes.

“Good night…”

An arm snakes itself around Will to pull him even closer to Hannibal, the skin-on-skin contact as unfamiliar as it is soothing.

He falls asleep surprisingly quickly.

*

In the morning, they’ll wake up in a tangle of limbs; two bodies entwined so deeply that it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

 

**_ Fire _ **

Will is exhausted, down to the very marrow of his bones, by the time they return to Hannibal’s home. He can still see Randall- butchered and mounted on a gruesome skeleton as a morbid work of _art_ \- behind his eyes, can remember how if felt how to ‘work’ with Hannibal’s eyes on him, hot and proud.

He feels sick and elated and powerful.

But beneath it all, there is crushing despair, just waiting to be released.

He eyes his Volvo, still parked in front of the house, and contemplates just driving back to Wolf Trap immediately if only to avoid any further interaction with the doctor for the time being. Of course, he decides against it in the end.

He devoted himself to this game wholeheartedly, knowing full well that he would tear himself apart right alongside Hannibal. No sense in backing off now.

He silently follows Hannibal into his study, seats himself on one of the plush chairs and waits for the guilt to settle in, to join the mélange of fear, joy, disgust and sorrow churning in his chest.

It doesn’t and his conscience remains blissfully silent.

He realizes that Hannibal had left the room only when the man returns, with two glasses of amber liquid in his hands. Will passively accepts the one handed to him and does not object when Hannibal settles beside him, their chairs a bit _too_ close together to be anything but… intimate.

He’s beginning to loathe that word.

Will drains his glass- whiskey, much better than his own usual brand- in one go, not giving a shit about propriety. He allows Hannibal to take the glass from him and set it aside along with his own untouched one.

“You were glorious tonight, my dear Will.” There’s unbridled awe in his voice, mingled with pride and open affection.

And all Will can think about is how he'd have given nearly anything to have this man speak like this to him once. Once, when he had retained some semblance of innocence and Hannibal was still the tainted saint in his eyes, not the demon from the darkest depths of hell.

_I still wonder what it’d have been like to love you without hating you._

He frowns, confused, when Hannibal slides to his knees on the floor in front of Will and gently, reverently takes hold of his hands to guide the bandaged knuckles to his lips in a soft kiss.

He snatches them away and keeps his face frozen in a blank mask when Hannibal glances at him, confusion and hurt coloring his maroon eyes.

“You’re angry.” A part of Will’s mind- the portion somewhat distanced from the emotional maelstrom inside of him- notes the genuine bemusement in Hannibal’s voice and wonders just how _damaged_ this man must be to feel that way given the situation.

“No,” he replies, voice cold and cutting, “I’m disappointed.”

Hannibal’s brows draw together in further confusion and he _wants_ to believe that this is all just an act, that Hannibal is only showing him another mask, but he knows with icy certainty that the man kneeling at his feet is wholly, painfully _real_.

Hannibal is truly _pleased_ at this turn of events, _proud_ of Will and _bewildered_ at his reaction.

Will’s heart breaks, just a little bit more, another fracture among the thousands already etched into it.

“I thought this was different.” His voice is cold no longer, infused instead with a softness that is utterly sincere in the pain it wishes to inflict. “I thought you had changed, not enough to affect what you are, but enough that this could work. I thought you saw me as more than just a dispensable pawn.”

He knows none of it is true, knows just how precious he is to Hannibal. But he still feels pleasure curl deep and warm inside him at the pure, unadulterated shock his words evoke in Hannibal.

“You are more. Will, you were _never_ a pawn.” This time, he doesn’t resist when Hannibal takes his hand and grip it tight with something akin to desperation.

“Really? Your actions have always been much more honest than your words, Hannibal. And tonight, you sent a man to kill me… an act of reciprocity, you called it though we both know it’s not that. You placed my life in the hands of a deranged _beast_. Yet, here you sit, claiming that I _mean_ something to you.”

Hannibal shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line but Will shushes him with a finger against his mouth when he tries to speak. He joins the other on the floor so that he’s at eye-level with the monster he loves. He slowly traces his sharp cheekbones with the fingers of his free hand, and shapes his own lips into a small smile, cruel and mocking.

“You knew I would kill him. That’s what you were going to say, hm?” Hannibal nods, once, eyes fixed on Will as if entranced. Perhaps he is; bewitched by loving gestures and savage words. “What if I hadn’t? What if he'd killed _me_?”

_(There’s no need to mention how Will had considered it for an instant, how tempting it had been to let himself be slaughtered if only because he knew it would torment Hannibal for the rest of his life.)_

“Would you have labeled me as _unworthy_ of your attention? Cast me aside in your affections? Did you think you _could_?” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other and he splays a hand over Hannibal’s mouth to keep him silent, unwilling to let him counter Will’s whispered accusations. “Remember Tobias Budge? Remember your little gamble? You thought then that I would kill him. I didn’t. Do you remember how it felt when you thought he'd killed me?”

He remains quiet for a while, leaning intimately against Hannibal as the other recalls those torturous hours of uncertainty with excruciating clarity.

Will can’t stop himself from remembering either and try as he might, he can’t erase the image of the helpless relief he'd seen that night on Hannibal’s face when Will had walked into his office, from his mind.

He swallows, not bothering to force down his own pain, embracing it instead. Sweet torture.

“What do you think makes this any different? How is this supposed to convince me that you see me as anything more than a little pet project? You claim you want us to be equals and yet you continue to treat me like your little pet project. You want me to trust you but you give me no reason to… Tell me, Hannibal, what am I supposed to believe?”

Hannibal’s grip on his hand tightens to the point of pain and Will smiles despite of it, thrilled at the proof of the effect he is having on him. He removes his other hand from where it’s covering Hannibal’s mouth to wrap it around him instead, pressing their torsos close together.

“It wasn’t a test. It was a gift, Will.” The words are little more than a faint whisper, completely earnest.

Will doesn’t reply immediately, just breathing in the heady scent of the other man and the bleak distress permeating the air around them.

He sighs, holding Hannibal even closer.

“I know.” Will says simply, as if he wasn’t verbally assaulting the man in his arms with the gentle cruelty of untrue accusations mere moments ago. “I know, Hannibal. But don’t expect me to be pleased.”

Hannibal tenses for a moment, body going absolutely rigid, and then he slumps forward onto Will, chuckling humorlessly.

“ _Ah_ , you wanted to hurt me.” He can feel Hannibal’s mouth turn up in a grimace against his collarbone. “You are a cruel creature, William.”

“A creature of your own devising.” A short pause and then, “Did I succeed?”

“Yes. You always do.”

Will smiles.

He untangles his hand from where it’s all but crushed in Hannibal’s grip and flexes it a bit to get rid of the numbness. He draws back so that he can cup the other man’s face and lets out a dismal sigh at the look of grudging admiration on Hannibal’s face.

_I wish, sometimes, that you would hate me. That would make this easier._

He leans in to kiss Hannibal, a light pressure on yielding flesh, and murmurs a question against his lips.

“Would you like me to stay tonight?”

It’s a strange question, given how it has become routine for Will to let himself into Hannibal’s house and curl up besides the man on his high-count sheets with no explanation sought or given.

“Yes.”

The answer is almost a sigh and Will has to wonder if even Hannibal himself is aware of the slight pleading undertone to it. Probably not.

Will’s mouth twist into a razor-sharp smile that feels as if it should cut them both and bathe them in blood but all he feels against his lips is Hannibal’s smooth skin, soft and unblemished.

“Pity.”

The smile doesn’t fade even as he rises to his feet and walks out of the room, and out of the house, sparing not even a glance at the man left kneeling on the lush carpet.

Only once he’s in the car and speeding out of Baltimore does the first tear fall.

 

**_ Fem _ **

As always, Hannibal sticks out like a sore thumb in Will’s home, looking borderline ridiculous in his three-piece suit when surrounded by seven eager, nosy dogs.

And as curious as Will is about the reason behind the doctor’s surprise visit, he’s rooted to the spot for a moment, unabashedly enjoying the sight of Hannibal; his effortless interaction with the pack and their obvious ease with the man. The latter causes suspicion to well up in him but he resolutely ignores it. There’s no point anyway and he really just wants to appreciate this moment, preserve it in memory.

He knows this won’t last.

So he tries not to imagine a life where he could have had _this_ , a life with Hannibal Lecter or rather, the man Will once imagined him to be.

He fails and his mind provides him with too vivid flashes of a distant reality, one with fine dinners, secret smiles and warm kisses in the morning. But the men in those images doesn’t really seem like Hannibal and Will, retaining the tattered remnants of their innocence that seems to shine like a halo even if only in Will’s mind.

No, that’s not them. Such a life will _never_ be for them. The two of them will forever be tainted by blood and death and darkness.

_The man you thought you knew was only ever an illusion._

Hannibal finally looks up at him and smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the motion. There’s nothing false in that smile, no lies or deception. It’s entirely real and paints his chiseled face with the last shreds of his humanity.

He’s been doing that a lot lately, smiling that slightly shy smile apparently reserved only for Will.

And every single one of them feels like a burning stake thrust through Will’s heart.

He doesn’t feel guilt, not really. But something dangerously close to regret sends pangs through his chest at every instance of Hannibal’s new openness, his conscious attempt not to hide from Will, convinced that it’s no longer necessary.

_(He remembers being in that position once, clinging with blinding hope and utter conviction to a friendship born of a web of lies.)_

**_‘_** Freddie Lounds lives. I’m not who you think I am. ** _’_** A part of him wants to scream those words, consequences be damned. He can feel them perched right under his chin, begging to be let out.

But he mutely returns the smile and wills every drop of the terrible love he feels for this man to show in his eyes.

_The man you thought you knew was an illusion. But you love the monster no less. And where does that leave you, Will Graham?_

“Hey. What are you doing here?” He calls off the dogs with a single command, making his way over to Hannibal to stand close in front of him.

“Can I not just visit?” Hannibal’s smile widens and he bends his head to brush his lips against Will’s cheek, a surprisingly domestic gesture.

It’s Will who throws his arms around the other to pull him to a tight hug, breathing in the comforting scent of the man with his face pressed into the crook of Hannibal’s neck. And as he does so, he wonders why Hannibal continues to seek him out despite the way Will endeavors to hurt him at every opportunity.

Probably because of the same reason why Will can’t seem to stay away from Hannibal regardless of of the ruination that lies in that path.

“Of course you can. God knows I do it often enough.” He keeps his tone light, carefree in a way that it rarely is with just the two of them, and pushes himself even closer to the man in his arms. “But something tells me you’re here for a reason.”

It’s no great leap. Hannibal is, after all, someone who thrives on meticulous planning and flawless execution. Even his more seemingly impulsive actions- most of them concerning Will- had copious amounts of forethought behind them.

Hannibal hums into his ear, his entire body vibrating with a silent laugh and he says, “I came to invite you to dinner.”

Will untangles himself from the doctor and raises an eyebrow in question.

“You drove an hour in the snow for that?” An echo of words spoken to Will by Hannibal himself a long time ago. “You could’ve called.”

“It’s a very special dinner.” A slight shrug and then, “And I wanted to visit.”

Will grins and shakes his head, not allowing his face to reflect the sudden flare of pain inside him. He’s envious of Hannibal for a moment, of the blissful ignorance that shields the other from the truth.

The _irony_ of it all.

Will steals himself, hardens his mind against the desolate cries of his heart and leans over to properly kiss Hannibal, good and deep.

He’s doing the right thing. For himself. For them _both_ , in a way.

“Well, I was about to prepare dinner.” He tells Hannibal, finally stepping away. “Since you’re here, I’ll hand over the kitchen to you.”

He turns on his heels and makes his way to the kitchen, knowing that Hannibal will follow.

He wonders if he could get used to this and shakes off the thought.

_I will do what needs to be done._

Even if it breaks them both, in the end.

 

**_ Seks _ **

“Margot Verger came to see me again the other day.” He doesn’t look at Hannibal as he speaks, fixing his eyes on the bookshelf in front of him but barely seeing the titles of the volumes stacked neatly on it. Even his words are only a half-hearted attempt to break the silence between them, unnerved by how easy and comfortable it is.

Will has no reason to be at Hannibal’s office right now. It nearly 9 pm on a Thursday, long past the psychiatrist’s office hours. Yet for some reason, Will had found himself driving directly to Baltimore after another tense conversation with Jack, desiring Hannibal’s company with an eerie intensity.

It’s not the first time he’s done that. Lately, he’s been spending a majority of his time with Hannibal, mostly in Baltimore but sometimes in Wolf Trap as well. Though every moment of that time is tinged with a sort of bittersweet ache as Will alternates between treating Hannibal in a relatively normal (or what passes for ‘normal’ between the two of them) manner and honing his words into sharp-edged spikes that pull and tear at the other relentlessly and successfully.

He wonders, with grim amusement, if he’s trying to make the best of their time together before it all goes to hell.

“She seems to have grown quite fond of you,” comes the reply from somewhere in the middle of the room.

“We bonded over our _unconventional_ psychiatrist.” He finally turns and is faced with the image of Hannibal leaning casually on his desk, eyes fixed intently on Will. “I’m not entirely sure how you went from advising her to kill her brother to telling her to get pregnant.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to, William.” There’s a hint of amusement in Hannibal’s expression even though his voice remains completely vacant of feeling. Will rolls his eyes with a chuckle.

“Ah, forgive me. Of course you wouldn’t be so crass as to outright suggest it. Subtlety is a favored tool of yours after all. Anyway, she seems quite happy with the results. But do you think it’ll work?”

“I hope so, for her sake. Mason Verger is a vile human being.” There’s quite a lot that can be said about a sadistic cannibal and mass murderer labeling someone as ‘vile’ but the darkness that flashes in Hannibal’s eyes at the man’s name and the memory of the haunted look on Margot’s face at her own fleeting mentions of her brother are enough to convince Will of the truth of the statement.

Will cocks his head to the side and smiles, lips pulling back from teeth in a not entirely pleasant expression. “You actually sound concerned. Your acting skills are truly supreme.”

The doctor only blinks at the sudden shift in Will’s demeanor but he can see a sort of calm acceptance spread in his wine red eyes. Its only to be expected since Hannibal must be quite used by now to Will’s vicious assaults on his heart and mind, but he nonetheless feels disappointment tinged in sorrow at the way Hannibal simply _endures_ it all, not even fighting back properly.

_(But who is truly being punished here?)_

“Do you find it so hard to believe that my concern might be real, Will?”

“Yes _. I know you_. And you’re not concerned for Margot Verger’s well being, not really.” He stalks forward, covering the distance between them with long, purposeful strides until he’s standing between Hannibal’s spread legs, causing him to lean more heavily on the desk. “You feel… distress at the existence of a person such as Mason Verger, someone so undeserving of life. He is a _pig_ to you and you want to eradicate him.”

Hannibal remains silent, neither confirming nor denying his theory, simply watching Will with dark eyes that have always seen too much. He stares back fearlessly, wading through layers of nothingness and mere echoes until he finds that tiny sliver of humanity left in the man, the only part of Hannibal Lecter he can hurt.

“Concern is such a human emotion, Hannibal.” He murmurs as he lifts both hands to bury them in the silky softness of the other’s hair. Hannibal’s breath hitches ever so slightly at the touch but he continues to just stand there like a silent statue, lips pursed close. “And I don’t think you’ve been truly human in a very long time.”

“Do you honestly believe that, Will?” His voice is quiet, nearly inaudible but Will can feel his breath on his own lips, can see the naked question in his eyes. Will’s smile softens somewhat as he once again clings to the _man_ inside this perplexing creature.

“Yes and no. There was a time when I fully believed that you were only a monster. It was easier then, to just _hate_. But then I realized that you were more than just a monster, more than just a man.” He lightly brushes his nose against Hannibal’s, something inside of him screaming at this perversion of tenderness. “I still don’t know what you are. I don’t think even you know. But there’s something inside you, some broken remnants of a child that’s your humanity. And I am proof of its existence. The fact that I still live, that we’re here like this… it all proves that you’re more human than you have any right to be.”

Hannibal’s breath escapes him in a small shaky gasp and he laughs- an utterly humorless, more than a little wrecked sound- and pulls Will to him in a crushing embrace.

“Does it give you peace to cause me pain?”

“No. It gives me pleasure.”

_Pleasure drenched in anguish and despair._

Will hands wander down from Hannibal’s hair until they’re splayed across the other’s back and he turns his head to press a kiss against Hannibal’s cheek, smiling bitterly against the smooth skin.

“Why do you _let_ me hurt you?”

Hannibal nuzzles the spot behind his ear and takes a deep breath, scenting Will. When he answers, there’s a note of helplessness in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

The smile fades and he closes his eyes, face still pressed against Hannibal’s.

“Does that scare you?”

Hannibal laughs again and he leans away to take Will’s face between his hands with great care. There is a feverish gleam in his burgundy eyes.

“My dear William, you terrify me.”

Will feels the naked worship in Hannibal’s voice wash over him like molten lava.

“Because I make you feel human.”

Hannibal sighs in response and presses a tender kiss to Will’s forehead. When he draws back, there is a serene smile on his face.

Will smiles back, the expression now free of all malice and melts into Hannibal, greedily cocooning himself in his warmth.

_I am so very sorry, Hannibal._

**_ Syv _ **

_Achilles and Patroclus. Hiding and Revealing. Battle-tested friendships. Divine intervention._

The words ring loud and clear in Will’s head as he traces the air above the beautiful, intricately detailed charcoal drawing with his fingertips, not quite daring to _touch_. He can feel Hannibal watching him.

_Lies. Deception. Cruel games. Manipulation. Betrayal._

A treacherous part of his mind supplies, filling his mind with images of his secret conversations with Jack and the precise care with which he has planned the ruination of this man who looks at him with a terrifying version of what men call ‘love’.

It’s not enough to test his resolve or cast doubt on what he believes he must do… but it is enough to force all the distress and pain he’s been feeling ever since the beginning of all this to the surface, battering at his composure with overwhelming strength.

“Achilles and Patrocles had a tragic ending. Is that what you envision for the two of us?” Will keeps his voice low, unwilling to spoil the sanctity of the moment, twisted as it is.

“Of course not.” Hannibal replies, taking Will’s exploring hand into his own and pressing a light kiss to it. “I do not intend for history to repeat itself.”

_I do._

Will feels a smile stretch his lips at Hannibal’s absolute confidence that he can direct their fates. Though to be fair, he can’t really blame the man. Will is the one who’s going to wreck the other’s vision of a happy future and Hannibal has already admitted to being unable to predict him. But he trusts Will, believes that they share the same dream.

_(Trust between monsters is almost as dangerous as love.)_

Will risks a glance at Hannibal and feels his own smile widening at the fond devotion on his face. It’s an expression he himself would’ve worn had his affection not been tainted by hatred just as strong.

He leans down, slowly, to kiss Hannibal, twisting his hand away from Hannibal’s to grip the back of his head and tilt his face up for a better angle. There’s an instant when the kiss remains chaste, nothing more than a faint brush of lips and then they’re devouring each other, tongue and teeth all tangling together.

And when Hannibal rises and draws Will hard to him with nearly violent passion, he doesn’t object, doesn’t push the other away like he usually does when things get too heated between them.

All those times, Will had been trying to preserve at least some boundaries between the two of them, if only to spare himself even more confusion. But now, with the events too far along for Will to stop even if he wished to, he finds that he’s just as eager as Hannibal to be rid of those lines, to become one with the man in every way possible before they’re torn apart.

As if tasting Will’s acquiescence in the warmth of his mouth, Hannibal starts to quickly and efficiently unbutton his shirt, fingertips faintly brushing the newly revealed skin. It’s harder for Will to peel off the layers of ridiculously expensive layers of fabric that cover the other and in the end, he ends up just ripping off the vest and the shirt underneath, buttons scattering everywhere.

Hannibal makes a dismayed noise against his mouth, but doesn’t protest as he trails wet, hot kisses down Will’s throat, biting down lightly at his hammering pulse.

It’s a slow and intense progression from desk to couch, the short distance between the two littered with their various garments and it is with a deep sigh that Will allows Hannibal to lower him to the soft surface.

It’s a new and strange for him to see and _feel_ another man so intimately. Still, he finds himself enjoying the unfamiliar sensations; the thick, grey tufts of hair on Hannibal’s chest that tickles his skin as their bodies move together, the subtle strength in the muscular arms that hold him pinned to the couch, the heat that rushes through his body as their half-hard cocks grind against each other…

The whine that trickles past his lips when Hannibal moves off him embarrasses him momentarily but the other just smiles fondly and pecks Will once on the lips before retreating to the desk with a murmured request for ‘patience’. Will unabashedly watches Hannibal’s nude form as he hurries to the desk to retrieve something from its drawer and smirks at the way the doctor’s movements are impeded by the impressive erection between his legs.

Will doesn’t allow himself to feel nervous when Hannibal returns to him with a bottle of lubricant in hand- he wants this, _needs_ this- but he does raise an eyebrow at its convenient presence in the man’s study.

“I had hopes,” is all Hannibal says in response to his unvoiced query. His face shows a beautiful mixture of affection and desire.

Will imagines that his face must look the same.

He consciously forces every malicious emotion he feels for this man back down into the deep crevices in the lightless depths of his heart and pulls Hannibal back down on top of him, kissing him fervently.

But Hannibal flips them both over and shifts Will so that he’s straddling the other, knees planted firmly on either side of Hannibal’s thighs. The new position throws him for a moment but then Hannibal firmly grabs him by the ass and jerks his hips up so that their erections grind together. Will gasps and drops his head to lick and kiss the other man’s chest, running a hand through the pale hair there.

He lets out a breathless laugh when Hannibal removes his hands to open the bottle and pour a fair amount of lube onto his fingers and says, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He doesn’t stop bearing down on Hannibal though, throwing back his head to lose himself to the feel of their hard lengths pressing and rubbing against each other.

“We can stop whenever you wish, Will.” Hannibal replies, his accent thicker than usual, and Will leans down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, knowing full well that he'd never tell him to stop even if this turned out to be less than enjoyable.

It’s this _experience_ that he wants; something to _remember_. A memory to cherish.

“I know,” he murmurs, nipping at the flesh of Hannibal’s bottom lip. “I trust you.”

And he did.

When a cool, wet finger prods his opening, he tenses automatically, but Hannibal simply rubs the sensitive skin there until he relaxes before slowly, gently pushing the digit inside. It’s not a particularly pleasant sensation but it is _intense_ and Will stills on top of Hannibal. His breath rushes out of him in a long hiss when the lone finger starts to move in and out of him and Hannibal’s other hand comes up to splay against Will’s hip, tracing soothing circles into the skin there. The second one is decidedly more uncomfortable than the first even with the generous amount of lubricant but once again Hannibal waits patiently for Will to relax before he starts thrusting at a leisurely pace.

It isn’t long before it shifts from ‘bearable’ to ‘pleasurable’ and Will starts moving as well, rising up higher on his knees before grounding down to the slick digits inside of him. When the tips brush against a spot inside of him that causes heat to race up his spine, he parts his lips in a breathy moan and starts to move faster. Hannibal obligingly arranges the angle so that his fingers rub against his prostate with every push and Will feels his erection, which had flagged with the first finger, return to life with a vengeance.

Hannibal takes his time spreading him open, scissoring and thrusting relentlessly before adding a third. Will rides him with genuine enthusiasm, hands braced on Hannibal’s chest and shoulder for leverage. And he’s the one who grabs the lube and slicks up Hannibal’s cock when the pressure and friction provided by just the fingers stop being _enough_.

His fingers ease out of Will with an audible ‘pop’ and both of Hannibal’s hand comes to rest on Will’s hips as he carefully starts to guide himself down to the other’s length. They both groan in tandem when the head pushes against Will’s entrance and his fingers dig in like talons into the firm muscles of Hannibal’s body as the lowers himself fully on to Hannibal’s cock, gritting his teeth at the burn as he’s stretched from the inside. Neither move for a while, orienting themselves to the overwhelming sensations.

Hannibal wraps a hand around Will’s erection and starts to stroke him with a slow, teasing rhythm. And Will finally starts moving, rocking his hips up and down, biting down hard on his lips at the way Hannibal shifts in him. But the pleasure from the wonderful grip on his own cock soon overrides his discomfort and Will begins to ride the other properly, rising almost entirely off him before sinking completely back down with sinuous twists of his body.

He delights in the faint gasps and helpless moans that slip past Hannibal’s lips as he thrusts his hips up into Will. It’s a novel thing to see this particular man so debased and Will fights against the urge to close his eyes in favor of drinking in the lustful adoration in Hannibal’s eyes.

Will doesn’t want this to end, wants this last forever and he whimpers in protest when Hannibal’s rough thumb rubs insistently on his cockhead. His thighs start to burn from the effort of keeping a slow but steady pace and his rhythm starts to falter. Hannibal chooses that precise moment to sit up and throw his arms around Will’s torso, holding him securely before reversing their positions once again. Will finds himself on his back once more with Hannibal on his knees between his legs, still inside him though only just barely.

Hannibal bends to kiss Will, their tongues sliding sensually against each other as he starts to move, plunging deep inside Will with every roll of his hips. And as much as Will wants this to last, the fire coiling deep in his gut makes him reach down between their bodies to curl an arm around his leaking shaft to stroke himself in time with each of Hannibal’s thrusts.

Their movements become faster and more erratic as they both start spiraling towards their climax. Hannibal groans into Will’s mouth and trails his mouth down to suck at the sensitive skin of his throat, pushing himself hard and deep into Will with near desperation. Will deliberately clenches around Hannibal and is rewarded with a ragged cry as Hannibal slams into him once, twice before stilling and he comes with his teeth clamping down hard on Will’s flesh.

It’s the feel of razor sharp teeth tearing into his skin that sends Will screaming over the edge, his orgasm pulling his body taut as his vision nearly whites out. When he can see again, Hannibal is leaning over him on his elbows, staring at Will with hooded eyes. There is blood staining his lips and chin and in his blissful haze, all Will can think is that the man looks stunningly beautiful like this; flushed and ruined and bloodied.

He draws Hannibal down for another kiss and smiles around the taste of his own blood.

“How do I taste?” He whispers, voice slurred from pleasure and smiles again when the other leans back to look at him with a somewhat surprised expression. Hannibal smiles back and if the emotion that lights up his face with the power of a thousand suns isn’t _love_ , Will doesn’t know _what_ is.

That thought sobers him up quite quickly.

“ _Exquisite_.” Hannibal replies reverently, blatant devotion in his eyes as he lowers his mouth to Will’s neck again to lap at the shallow wound.

Will moans when Hannibal pulls out of him, feeling eerily empty without the other buried in him. Hannibal all but collapses next to him on the sofa and slides his arms around Will, nuzzling into him with a contented sigh.

He lays a hand over Hannibal’s cheek and feels something perilously close to tenderness well up in him at the sight of his face, looking soft and lovely and so painfully _human_ with his hair plastered all over his forehead and a sweet smile on his lips.

And he remembers a line from a book he'd read many, many summers ago.

_You can only cut someone as deep as you’re willing to cut yourself._

He takes a moment to relish the pleasure thrumming through every fiber of his body and the wonderful warmth of Hannibal beside him. He takes it all in, his powerful eidetic memory engraving the moment with deep, hard strokes into his mind, to be remembered and treasured for the rest of his life.

He leans over to kiss Hannibal’s closed lids, holding him as close as he can. When he pulls back, there’s a wide, delighted grin on Hannibal’s face and his eyes flutter open to regard Will with pure adoration.

_And I am willing to cut to the heart._

He swallows against the burn in his throat and begins, “This isn’t sustainable…”

 

**_ Otte _ **

Will doesn’t really expect Hannibal to leave.

Because somehow, Hannibal _knows_ and Will knows he knows. He’s known since yesterday, since their fateful last supper. And Will had seen that knowledge reflected in Hannibal’s eyes as they smiled and talked as if nothing was amiss, he'd heard it in the pleading note in Hannibal’s voice as he all but begged for Will to leave with him then and there, he'd felt it in the desperate way those familiar hands had clutched at him when they fucked afterwards with searching lips and insatiable hunger.

And after everything that’s happened, Hannibal wouldn’t just _run_ without a care for Will’s betrayal.

In a way, he thinks that his last-minute warning had been more for Hannibal’s sake than Jack’s.

Will doesn’t feel even remotely scared as the cab he’s in speeds towards 5 Chandler Square. Instead, he’s filled with a strange serenity despite the fact that he’s heading towards his own death.

Alana’s body on the asphalt, cold from more than just the rain, is an unpleasant surprise and he knows even before he bends to check her pulse that she is gone. He'd hoped that she would be spared such a fate. She looks beautiful though, lying there with sharp shards of glass scattered around her like the shattered remains of all their lives. He pauses, touches his lips to hers in a final farewell and covers her lifeless form with the thick fabric of his coat before venturing into the house, gun in hand.

It’s eerily silent inside and he wonders how much of the preternatural stillness of the atmosphere is the product of his own imagination.

There is blood, dark and fresh, pooling under the pantry door. Jack, he assumes. He doesn’t feel all that guilty. Jack chose his fate just as Will chose his.

He places a hand on the pantry door but doesn’t push, doesn’t call out. He just stands and stares for a moment before turning to seek out the one he’s here for. And of course, he suddenly finds himself face to face with none other than Hannibal Lecter, looking utterly _savage_ with his face and body awash in blood and sweat.

_Ah, there you are. The monster I’ve so yearned to meet._

“You didn’t leave.” He notes calmly and raises the gun, pointing it at Hannibal in a manner reminiscent of that momentous confrontation in a bloody kitchen during what now feels like a lifetime ago.

“How could I leave without you?”

Will smiles, morbid amusement filling him at how the words sound like a lover’s promise, uttered with such sincerity and desolation. Like a line from a tragic romance.

“I would have been disappointed if you had left without saying goodbye.” Will tells him truthfully but the gun in his hand doesn’t waver even as Hannibal takes a step forward, some of the misery in his eyes draining away only to be replaced by fury. Will can see the glint of steel in his hand, the curved edge of a knife.

“I let you know me. See me. I gave up my identity, I tore apart my life, everything I’ve built and accomplished … all for you.” Hannibal’s voice is soft and furious, but Will can detect a childlike confusion in his words that evoke the images of a lost, broken boy in Will’s mind. “I gave you _myself_. And this… this is how you repay me.”

_I know. And I treasure every bit of you that I possess. But forgive me, because I have to do this._

Will doesn’t say those words though. True as they are, they are not the right ones for this moment. But he does hope that once the rage and grief fades, Hannibal will remember what he already knows.

“You were too late.” Will murmurs with a pained grin and takes a step forward, putting himself that closer to death. He summons every bit of hatred he feels for the other and allows it to blaze in his eyes. “You could have had me as well. So many times. I would have accepted you, _all of you_ , and given you all of me; body, mind and soul. But you didn’t want that, did you? You desired to change me, to craft me in your own image. You wanted from me something I would never be able to give and so you lost me. I thought for so long that you were the _only_ one who accepted me for _me_. But I guess, in the end, you were just like everyone else.”

It’s a relief to finally say those words out loud, to hurl the accusations at Hannibal with the entire force of his despair behind them. Only the final line is a blatant lie, meant to provoke Hannibal into doing what needs to be done.

That’s why Will doesn’t mention that he loved Hannibal despite it all, will foolishly love him until the end of his time.

The gun drops from his hand and Will keeps on moving towards Hannibal until he’s close enough to kiss him and he leans forward, looping his arms around the other’s neck.

 _“Do it.”_ He whispers, taunting, into Hannibal’s ear. The reaction is almost instantaneous.

He barely feels the knife tear through him, but the pain is hot and sharp and crippling.

A cry spills past his lips and he clings with all his strength to Hannibal as he’s held up by the same hands that just ripped him apart. He can feel Hannibal breathing turn ragged against him as bloodied hands clutch him close almost as if in apology.

“You’re going to run.” It’s a plea, a request and a command all rolled into one as every tender emotion he feels for this man rises once again to mingle with the darker ones. “I might die here. I might not. But you’ll remember, Hannibal. You can run and run… but I’ll haunt you until the end of your days.”

It’s Hannibal’s lips that part in a harsh cry this time as he grips Will tight and strokes his hair in a vain attempt to comfort him. And he is infinitely gentle as he lowers Will to the floor, laying him propped against the wall before pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Will expects him to leave then but Hannibal continues to stand there with a lost look in his eyes as he stares at Will.

Will smiles at him, slow and sweet.

_(How can you love and hate someone so much at the same time?)_

“Run…”

And Hannibal runs.

As Will lays there, one hand pressed against the bleeding gash in his stomach, he wonders what he’s meant to do if he ends up surviving. That had never really been a part of the plan.

He leans back and closes his eyes with a sigh.

In the distance, he can hear sirens.

 

**_ Ni _ **

Four months pass.

Four months of drugs and therapy and being treated like a fragile teacup once more. Of awkward questions and endless interrogations. Of being alternately hailed as a hero and condemned as an accessory to a cannibal.

Four months, half of which is spent in a sterile hospital with its blank walls and empty faces, and the rest in his own house which feels like a home no longer.

_(Because home is a man with death in his eyes and blood on his lips.)_

Four months of waking up with the tear stained face of Hannibal Lecter in his mind and an apology on his lips.

Four months of missing shy smiles and fond looks and a telltale warmth beside him.

Will still doesn’t feel guilt for what he did. But he does regret that things had to happen this way at all. And he does acknowledge that perhaps he'd underestimated his own humanity… because he'd not been expecting to feel Hannibal’s absence like a gaping hole in his soul.

Then again, he'd not really been expecting to even be alive by this point.

When the call comes, Will is caught off guard despite the fact that he’s been waiting for it for a while now. The unfamiliar number is not sufficient warning, not with how he’s plagued by reporters and publishers and anyone with a modicum of curiosity.

At first, there is only absolute silence on the other end when he answers. Suddenly, it just _clicks_ and Will takes a deep breath to collect himself. But even then, when he answers, his voice comes out a little breathless.

“Hello, Hannibal.”

A sound on the other end of a breath being drawn, held and released.

“Will.”

It’s funny how he can now think of nothing to say when before, he had too much to say.

Although, what is there to be said in the face of such betrayal?

“I miss you.” he says casually, without any of the grief or longing that should accompany such an admission. It’s a simple statement uttered without dramatics and he trusts that Hannibal will understand its weight nonetheless.

“And I you.” Hannibal replies, voice just as calm as Will’s.

_We really did trap each other, didn’t we?_

Will lets out a shuddering breath he wasn’t aware of holding and realizes with a start that his other hand had somehow crept under his shirt to caress the nearly healed scar on his belly.

He’s been doing that a lot ever since he was discharged. He feels an odd sort of affection towards that scar; the only tangible one Hannibal has left on him.

“How’s Dr Du Maurier?”

“I don’t know. We parted ways some time ago.”

“I take it you didn’t kill her then.”

“Of course not.”

Will mulls over that for second before deciding that he doesn’t quite care either way. The disappearance of Hannibal’s ex-psychiatrist had been a surprise even to him. Still, it had been a smart move.

It’s Hannibal who breaks the silence this time.

“How are you, Will?”

“Healing.” He answers with a smile. Under his shirt, he runs his fingertips over the raised flesh. “It’ll scar of course. I don’t mind. It wasn’t even a fatal wound… that surprised me.”

 _‘Why didn’t you kill me?’_ He asks without asking.

“You were not the only one.”

 _‘I couldn’t kill you.’_ He hears he unspoken answer to an unvoiced question.

“Alana wasn’t as lucky. At least Jack’s still alive. But Bella’s getting worse.” There’s no verbal response from the other end, so he keeps going. “They only recently cleared my name, you know. For Tier’s murder. They had no actual proof that I killed him. Purnell tried to convince me to join the manhunt for you… I refused.”

“Why?”

“I’ll find you on my own terms.”

“Do you think you can?”

“I know I can.”

They’re both silent for a moment after that but then Hannibal speaks again, his voice rougher than before, a crack in his icy composure.

“Why did you betray me, Will?”

“I did what I had to do.” He answers, not unkindly. “I did what I believed to be best for us, just like you did when you framed me as the Copycat. Hannibal, I know I hurt you. I won’t apologize for that. But I am sorry for the lies.”

Hannibal huffs out a laugh and even through the phone, it sounds pained. Will feels his eyes burn though there were no tears.

“I wouldn’t expect you to start apologizing for hurting me now, Will, not when you’ve been doing that relentlessly all this time. But was everything a lie?”

“You know it wasn’t.” Will presses his hand a little tighter to the scar as his eyes slip closed. “Despite what I said, I gave you myself as well. As much as I could.”

“One does wonder.”

“Don’t.”

More silence. This should be ridiculous.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to hang up now. Don’t call again.”

Whispered conversations from different continents with more words left unsaid than otherwise isn’t going to do either of them any good.

“As you wish.” Will can hear the other man’s anger in his curt reply and so he speaks before more damage can be done.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Hannibal. That’s a promise.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath and ends the call before Hannibal can say anything else.

But he stands out there on his porch for a long time, one and clutching his phone and the other splayed across the marred flesh of his abdomen.

_I love you._

**_ Ti _ **

The house is nice. Large and beautiful just like the one in Baltimore but entirely different in style. It’s all too easy to see why Hannibal might choose such a place.

This time, Will doesn’t rush inside without a care for common courtesy, with a gun in his hand and cold fire in his eyes.

Instead, he rings the doorbell, takes a step back and _waits_.

It takes nearly five minutes for the door to open, revealing a man whose face is as familiar as it is not. His hair is dyed a much darker blond, falling forward into his eyes in a carefully messy fashion. He’s clothed in dark jeans and a simple black T-shirt. There’s a pair of rimless glasses perched on his nose. He _looks_ nothing like the man Will knows.

But the eyes… the eyes are the same, intense maroon spheres of one Hannibal Lecter.

And as he fully takes in the sight of Will on his doorstep, it isn’t that old, familiar warmth of fond devotion or boundless adoration or delighted pride that colors his face but rather a kind of smoldering darkness that Will thinks must be similar to the expression that adorned his own face countless times during his many vicious interactions with Hannibal.

Will smiles, pleased.

Hannibal tilts his face in wary acknowledgement and steps aside; a silent invitation. As Will accepts and enters, the thought that he should fear for his life in this situation crosses his mind. But it’s just a vague thought, one without any weight.

He doesn’t fear for his life. He doesn’t need to.

Behind him, the door closes with a muted click and he turns to face Hannibal only to find the man staring at him with a million conflicting emotions etched on his sculpted visage.

“You look well, Hannibal.” The greeting sounds a little ridiculous when said out loud but Hannibal’s lips twitch into a grim smile nonetheless.

“Are you here to capture me, Will?”

Will laughs and shakes his head.

“Oh, I caught you a very long time ago. You have any wine? I’m thirsty.”

Hannibal nods automatically and leads him further inside, but there is a somewhat dazed look on his face that makes Will wonder if he thinks this is all just a dream.

He is led into a kitchen which he’s surprised to see isn’t even half as advanced as the one in Baltimore. Though when you consider the fact that Hannibal is still is a wanted criminal, it shouldn’t be too shocking that he can’t afford to be as picky as before.

His motions are rather robotic as he sets about pouring them both a glass of red wine and he keeps sneaking glances at Will every few seconds. On his part, Will never once takes his eyes off Hannibal; greedily, shamelessly gorging himself on the sight after over a year of abstinence.

_(The pale specters in his mind don’t count.)_

Will accepts the glass offered with a grateful nod and takes a large sip, sighing deeply as the rich liquid washes down his parched throat. He really was thirsty.

“It’s been an exhausting journey.” He tells Hannibal, who’s just standing there with his own glass still on the counter, watching Will.

“Yes.” Hannibal agrees. They both know that they’re not talking about the admittedly exhausting hunt for Hannibal across three countries but rather, every second that has passed in these last eighteen months.

“And to properly answer your previous question, I’m here alone. I did tell you that I’d find you only on my own terms.”

“Was that wise, William? Confronting a very dangerous man with no backup?”

Will grins at the forced menace in Hannibal’s tone and drains his glass, moving close to the older man to set in down on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t retreat afterwards, opting to remain like that, conspicuously invading the other’s personal space.

“Confrontation? Don’t be ridiculous, Hannibal. I’m merely visiting an old friend who’s proven time and time again that he’s incapable of killing me.”

He doesn’t flinch when Hannibal’s free hand curls around his neck with blinding speed. In fact, he tilts his head back a little, baring his throat with a smile. Then, he just waits.

The fingers unfurl his neck one by one as Hannibal lets go of him with a look of extreme consternation on his face.

“I should have run from you the moment I laid eyes on you in Jack Crawford’s office.” Hannibal sounds almost resigned.

Will hums vaguely and raises his hand to take hold of the one now resting harmlessly on his throat. He entwines their fingers together and smiles when Hannibal frowns at the gesture but doesn’t protest.

“But you didn’t run then. Or any time after. Neither did I, though God knows I should have. And you’re certainly not going to run _now_ , not when you’ve gone to all the trouble of leaving such an intriguing trail for me to follow back to you.”

Hannibal swallows, a complex range of emotions chasing each other across his face and Will has to wonder whether this transparency is deliberate or involuntary. Or a mix of both.

“Do you hate me, Hannibal? For destroying your dream, the life you wanted for the two of us. For lying to you, using your feelings so ruthlessly. For making you truly understand what it means to be _human_.”

The hand entangled with his flexes in his grasp and out of the corner of his eyes, Will can see Hannibal’s other hand grip tight at the edge of the granite slab until his knuckles turn white.

It’s all the answer he needs.

_Yes._

“Attacking me with words again, Will? You still want to tear me apart then? What makes you think I’ll just endure it all after everything you’ve done? There was a time when I allowed you to hurt me, welcomed the pain silently because I thought it’d be better for you if you were to inflict phantom wounds on me with your rage and hatred. I hoped it’d make it easier to accept me and accept your own monstrosity. Evidently, I was wrong.” He hisses the last word out from between clenched teeth, his breathing harsh and panting. His grip on Will’s hand would’ve been crushing if he weren’t squeezing back just as strongly.

But the words and the blatant fury behind them only prompts Will to throw his head back and laugh, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

When he calms down after what feels like an eternity, Hannibal is staring at him with an incredulous expression, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“But that’s just _it_ , Hannibal. I never wanted you to _endure_ silently. I wanted you to fight back, attack me just as viciously. I _needed_ you to hate me.” Will takes a step forward until their chests are brushing with every heaving breath. “But you never did. And even if we’d run away, that wouldn’t have changed. I’d have kept hurting you and you would never have protested.”

Hannibal just shakes his head in bemusement and his other hand flies up to card through Will’s curls, his fingers digging into his scalp as he asks, “And your solution was to deceive me? Betray me?”

“It wouldn’t have _worked_ otherwise, Hannibal. You need to understand that I’ll never be able to love you without hating you. The two are so tangled together that I can’t feel one without the other.” His presses a palm against Hannibal’s chest, directly above where his heart beats slow and steady in direct contrast to the wildness in its owner’s eyes.

“You once told me of imagoes. An ideal. You destroyed my ideal of you when you betrayed me so profoundly. The one man I trusted, the one I believed saw me for _just_ me… Did you know that I realized that day, when you took me to Minnesota, that I loved you? Imagine how I felt when I found out that the man I cared so much for didn’t even exist, that he was only an illusion?”

“I know how it feels.” Hannibal whispers, eyes glassy and voice strained. “You made sure that I’d know how it feels. An act of reciprocity, I suppose.”

Will leans forward to press his cheek against Hannibal’s and feels tears slide down his face to wet both their faces.

“You wanted us to be equals, Hannibal. Now we are. No more illusions. This… this is reality.”

“And where will this reality lead us? Do you honestly think this can end well?” The bite in Hannibal’s words is completely eclipsed by the questing desperation in them. He turns his face to press his lips to Will’s cheek, his tongue flicking out to taste bitter tears.

“Probably not.” Will replies with a shaky smile as Hannibal continues to place soft, barely there kisses on his face. The heart beneath his palm still beats slow and steady. “But then again, it wasn’t ever going to end well. And we’ve never had a choice in this. Neither of us can really run that far. We’ll always come back to each other.”

_We’re like two stars, constantly chasing each other, often shifting our trajectory but never straying far._

“This isn’t just a visit.” It’s not a question but Will nods anyway, turning to capture Hannibal’s mouth in a soft kiss that feels more like a promise than anything else.

“I came to stay,”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Someone stop me writing angst._ This was meant to be short, fluffy 5+1 fic, not a gigantic monster about fucked up feelings. 
> 
> This is mostly s2-compliant but also an AU in so many ways. A lot of things, mainly Hannibal-Will dynamics, but also the stuff with Alana, Margot, Mason etc are different. If I’d tried to squeeze it all into the fic, I’d have ended up with an enormous s2 AU multichapter fic. So, feel free to fill in the gaping blanks with whatever you see fit. Or you can ask me and I’ll share my head canon. (You know, this is the FIFTH time I’m rewriting that gutting scene. Yeesh. Last time though, promise.)
> 
>  
> 
> *edit  
> For those interested, I ended up writing a rough headcanon for some future events in this verse. You can find them [here](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/post/95839684521/headcanon-future-a-masquerade-in-love-and).


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